Cradle of Darkness

by Tom G. H. Adams

  His fellow Gigantes had accompanied him in a joint offensive in front of the main gates. They had been compelled to take the battle to the defenders early when the impetuous dissidents made their doomed assault on the city walls. Had the Cuscosians not been caught by surprise, these defenders would have safely ensconced themselves within the walls. But Siksta did not smile upon them this night, and instead they were caught in a scissor-move between Dragonian forest-warriors and the Gigantes. Through his single Cyclopean eye, Ebar saw the fear on these men’s faces as they were confronted by combatants that dwarfed them in every respect. It was because of these unfortunates that the battlement defenders had refrained from firing down upon them or tipping cauldrons of fyredrench. But once their number diminished, they had no such qualms.

  When the first arrows started to descend, Ebar urged his allies back. They stood no chance against these defences. Instead, they needed to exercise patience as Cistre’s assault from above ran its course. He did not have long to wait.

  He heard the familiar rasp of downward dragon-wing strokes and their battle-roar descend from the shroud of the night. Shrieks of agony from above were followed by a cessation of missile fire, and he knew they had to press home the attack straight away.

  “Ladders to the walls,” he said, signalling the remnant of dissidents to resume their assault. They were down to ten ladders, but without the defence being pressed home on the battlements, Brethis led his nimble Cuscosian rebels up and over the top, joining in the fray. To add to their good fortune, the gates in front slowly opened, revealing the horrified faces of unprepared Cuscosians.

  Perhaps the tide turns, Ebar allowed himself to think as the allies let out a roar of triumph.

  It was the night’s second unfortunate presumption. The agonised cry of the first dragon reached his ears. He looked up and saw baleful purple energy seizing the beasts mid-flight.

  “It is the possessed Queen,” Hanar cried as he drew up to Ebar. He dropped a lifeless corpse and stood, mouth open. “And what new evil is this?”

  “It is a doubly malign attack,” Ebar replied. “See how more of the dragons writhe in mid-air without anything seeming to assail them. The sorcerer’s hand is in this.”

  Ebar was so preoccupied he did not see the hurtling body of a mighty dragon falling from the skies.

  “Ebar!” He heard Hanar cry, then felt himself lofted several metres to the side, his body hitting the ground with numbing force.

  Only Hanar could have accomplished the fete; but the largest of all Cyclopes met the cost with his own life. The ayku buried him under its plummeting form, crushing the life from his sacrificial body.

  The dragon’s tail struck Ebar’s legs, but not with enough force to fracture any bones. Nonetheless, it took him a moment or two to raise his stunned form back to its feet. All around was chaos and confusion. The dragons had halted their attack, and now a new dismaying threat surfaced. From the west came an advancing guard of countless Cuscosian soldiers. The Gigantes leader had wondered why they had not met with greater resistance. Now he knew the answer. The bulk of the Cuscosian defence had been garrisoned north of Wyverneth. Had the allies been given enough time to carry out an extensive reconnaissance, they would have known this. But time had been against them.

  Now they would pay.

  ~ ~ ~

  Tayem had never ridden a dragon so hard, but Quassu did not complain. It was as if Oga lent both Jaestrum and he an unbidden strength. Still, the journey back from the Northern Wastes was arduous, despite taking a more direct route unhindered by the need to scour the landscape for hidden dragon lairs.

  They had made camp in a sheltered ice hollow on the evening of their encounter with Agathon. Mahren was eager to converse with Oga, if that were possible, and the discovery of such a shelter served their needs in all respects.

  They had eaten the last of their food, and there was nothing to cheer them save the prospect of a fire. But although they had the means to light one, there was no fuel, and in the pitch black of this northern plain there was no prospect of finding such.

  “The fyre-cauldrons of our dragons run low without food,” Tayem said. “I think this may be the coldest of nights.”

  “Not necessarily,” Mahren replied, looking at the plum-coloured, heaving monolith that was Oga’s resting body.

  “Even his inner fires are low after searching these wastes for us,” Tayem replied.

  “Then perhaps it is time to stoke the furnace,” Mahren said.

  “What … here? I thought we were going to wait until the return to Herethorn. Besides, we are all exhausted.”

  “I am eager to see if Agathon’s words are true.”

  “And I am supposed to be the impatient one,” Tayem said, smiling. “Very well. It can do no harm, except plunge us into disappointment should our quest prove a failure at this final hurdle.”

  “Have a little trust, Sister.” Mahren stirred herself and stepped toward the dozing dragon, gathering her furs around her to ward off the biting cold. “Great Oga,” she said, and watched her breath appear as a vapour at the words’ utterance.

  The beast opened one eye, and Tayem thought she saw a trace of belligerence there, but also a sense of loss.

  Is he aware of his sister’s passing? Tayem wondered.

  Mahren’s next words were in the language of vs’ shtak, and Tayem followed only the gist of what her sister said. Mahren could not only speak fluently in the ancient language, but possessed a quality to her speech which dragons responded to with warmth.

  “Amin caela y’ tondoren ten’lle, Oga. Teena tuulo i’ atara en’ ilya vs’ shtak,” Mahren said. The beast let out a deep growl that Tayem recognised as one of acceptance and respect.

  Speak carefully, Tayem thought. Oga may not know what you offer him.

  Then her sister placed her lips next to Oga’s ear and whispered the secret words that Agathon had conveyed to her. At their utterance, Oga lifted his snout, eyes wide.

  “Stand back,” Mahren said. “Something stirs within.”

  Tayem was no kirith-a, but even she detected the change in Oga. His breathing grew more rapid, and he shifted to his feet, gazing up at the night sky that was visible as a faint glow in the ice cleft above. He coughed, as if bringing something up from his belly, then snorted, a puff of smoke laced with tiny sparks emerging from his nostrils.

  “If that is what the great dragon has imparted,” Tayem said, “then I fear we have wasted our time.”

  “Now who is impatient?” Mahren said.

  Oga drew himself up to full height, turning his head towards a section of the ice wall behind and exhaled with a force as strong as a hurricane.

  What the two sisters beheld next left Tayem in no doubt that Agathon had been true to her word. A long gout of flame issued from Oga’s mouth and struck the wall of ice. The glistening edifice turned first to slush then water as large chunks of it fell to the floor of the cleft. They moved to a higher shelf of ice out of harm’s way, and Mahren settled Oga back down again before he could express his pneuma fyre again.

  As they gazed at the pool of melted ice below, Tayem said, “Sleep well, Mahren. For tomorrow we fly at dawn.”

  By late afternoon, they had crested the ridge of peaks north of Herethorn. From this distance, Tayem could make out the hidden Gigantes village wreathed in mists. As they drew closer, she uttered the words that Wobas had passed on to them, and the mists cleared to allow them admittance. Yet as they took in the village, Tayem recognised something had transpired.

  “It is too quiet,” she shouted across to Mahren as they circled the huts.

  An abrupt landing and hastily exchanged words with a relieved Shamfis revealed Tayem’s greatest fear.

  It has begun already, she thought, sensing that events were unfolding at a distance beyond which she could exert any control. She allowed the dragons to take only a few minute’s refreshment and food. They themselves bolted down some energy-giving biscuits supplied by Ebar’s wife.


  “You look weary beyond words,” Shamfis said to her. “Must you take flight again so soon?”

  Tayem looked south. “In a few short hours, battle will commence. If we do not join our kindred, then fatigue will be of no consequence. We must be gone.”

  It seemed to take an eternity before they coaxed their mounts into the sky again, although in reality it was less than half an hour. If the journey from the wastes seemed epic, this last hundred periarchs saw the Fyreglance sisters ride the wind like no other Donnephon had done before.

  Mahren now rode Oga, her minute form dwarfed in an ill-fitting harness strapped to his back. Jaestrum had remained, although Mahren was loath to leave him. The good bye was swift, their one consolation knowing that he would not face Etezora’s weapons on the battlefield. Whether he could survive an attack by Zodarin in the Dreamworld was another matter.

  Sol-Ar had already set in the sky as Tayem observed the distant fires of battle over Wyverneth. She goaded Quassu on, leading the dragon flight down towards an unknown and unprecedented storm.

  ~ ~ ~

  Through a blood-red haze, Cistre could see circling dragons against a full moon.

  This must be the afterlife, she thought absently. Then the searing pain from her forehead informed her she had yet to walk Sesnath’s golden halls. Memories flooded back: the fall of the dragons, Etezora’s cry of triumph and subsequent exit from the battlements, Tuh-Ma’s surprise attack and a vicious strike to her head with his club. Then blackness.

  “The dragons are still flying,” she said to herself and sat up, her surprise and relief difficult to contain. The battlements were empty, save for a few groaning wounded and Muthorus standing over her, a look of sadness in his eyes.

  “Less of your moping,” she said to him. “Your mistress is not dead yet.” Clearly, Etezora’s troll had assumed so as the Queen had hastily joined the battle below, compelling the blue-skin to follow before ensuring he had finished his deadly work.

  She took a deep breath and stood up, swaying on her feet and wiped the blood from her eyes. Her nose was no doubt broken as blood dripped down the back of her throat causing her to spit out gobbets of the stuff just to clear her airways. She staggered forward to the castellations, drawn by the cacophonous sounds of battle below and steadied herself on the woodwork. When her vision cleared sufficiently, she took in the scenes of immense chaos that unfolded below. They were akin to something out of a hellish nightmare. A vast sea of Cuscosians assaulted a diminishing circle of Dragonians and their allies. It was impossible to estimate their number, but even the presence of some twenty dragons could not hope to hold them back. Sashaim could be seen leading the ayku and skeredith squadrons in repeated swoops on the enemy, picking up talonfuls of them and pitching them from on high. But they lacked co-ordination and were hesitant in their attacks, knowing Etezora was still dealing death from hands that repeatedly rose to the sky.

  There seemed to be no stopping the manic Cuscosian Queen. Where before, her power had ebbed, bolts of purple energy still shot out with unrelenting frequency, snaring allied warriors by the dozen. Her troll then dispatched them with his merciless club. Small wonder the dragons were giving her a wide berth.

  She needs to be dealt with, Cistre swore, and called for Muthorus. The dragon limped towards her, an injury to his thigh from a Cuscosian spear slowing him down. After a brief inspection she saw that his wings were undamaged.

  “Are you ready for what might be your last battle?” she said to him, stroking his snout. “We no doubt fly to our deaths, but we must try to dispose of the evil one. Can you be brave, dear Muthorus?”

  The dragon inclined his head and uttered a warm growl, enough of a confirmation to communicate that he held true. Cistre mounted him, uttered a prayer to Sesnath and took to the skies again. She circled around the back of the palace, urging Muthorus up into the void. She would attack Etezora in such a way that the moon did not frame her. Even this might not conceal her approach, but it was her best hope. She climbed and climbed until the palace became a small square below, then signalled for Muthorus to stall and tilt downward. The obedient beast drew in its wings like a falcon and plummeted, centring its descent on the sparks of purple fire that lit the battlefield below.

  Three hundred … two hundred … one hundred … Cistre counted the fall unconsciously, focused instead on the object of her hatred. A second later, she pulled hard on the reins, urging her mount to veer dramatically to the side. This was not an attack she would complete, as ahead she saw the ponderous approach of a dragon so large it rivalled that of Enthusarr. As she steered out of its path, she craned her neck backwards to take in the leviathan sweeping over the Cuscosian troops. It opened its cavernous maw and out of it erupted an immense plume of orange fire, incinerating all in its path. Dozens of the enemy spontaneously ignited, their cries terrible to behold. There was a figure atop the great beast, but Cistre could not identify it.

  Could this be Agathon?

  Then she spied something less incredible, but infinitely more heartwarming. A blonde-haired rider atop a regal dragon swooped down and alighted close to the locus of Hallows-fire.

  “No,” she cried, “you are too close to her.” However, the cry was a whispering in a storm, and would have required a siren call to be heard across the maelstrom. Realising the futility of words, she swung Muthorus around again, speeding him on to engage with the Cuscosian Queen, knowing that in all likelihood she would not cover the distance in time.

  ~ ~ ~

  From Cistre’s perspective, Tayem had landed next to Etezora, but in reality the foreshortening of distance was deceptive. Tayem did not intend to put Quassu in jeopardy — that was her risk to take. She landed on the battlefield one hundred paces from Etezora, dismounting her dragon and unsheathing the glaive from its scabbard. Etezora was distracted by Oga, and was already drawing on fresh reserves, raising hands to the sky as if coaxing the great dragon back into range.

  No you don’t, Tayem said and leapt into the fray, slashing and thrusting with her weapon, leaping over fallen bodies and bearing down on the object of her attention. She could see Mahren bringing Oga round for another attack, his form like a giant harbinger of doom over the battlefield. Yet if Etezora was to ensnare him, would even this mighty beast prevail? And what if the sorcerer was to choose this moment to strike?

  No time for thought. Another Cuscosian fell before her flashing blade, his throat cut, bringing her within striking distance of the slayer of dragons.

  ~ ~ ~

  Tuh-Ma had ridden high on waves of killing glee as his mistress cut a swathe through the enemy. Her onslaught killed most of her opponents instantly, but many others were delivered to his feet only to fall beneath the crushing might of Headsplitter, his club. His euphoria was not to last, however, as his vision grew inexplicably hazy. It was as if a great sleep descended on him and his limbs became as lead. He shook his head, and once his vision cleared, he made out a sprinting warrior with blonde hair, bearing down on his mistress. She could not see her attacker, and Tuh-Ma could not allow this Valkyrie to get through. Although he did not know it, Cistre’s poison was slowing him. Yet a blue-skin’s constitution is strong and already his rampant metabolism was ridding him of its effect. Still, his movements seemed like treacle as he put himself in the attacker’s path. He lumbered towards her, club raised, ready to strike. But the blow never came. A sudden weight struck him from the side, sharp talons gouged into his side — and he was down.

  ~ ~ ~

  Tayem bore down on Etezora, and not even Cistre’s attack on the troll distracted her. The thought crossed her mind that she should warn the Queen, give her a chance to defend herself. Perhaps the one who had been her childhood friend deserved that. But that girl no longer existed. Tayem had seen the wasted dragon bodies on the battlefield and understood that the Hallows had completely consumed Etezora.

  No quarter, she thought, and covered the last few strides just as the Cuscosian Queen loosed a bolt of energy at Oga.
It was enough to deflect the attack of the great beast, but not enough to strike it down. Still, the attack enraged Tayem, and she shrieked a battle cry as she leaped into the air and thrust her glaive into the Queen’s side.

  Etezora gasped in pain, her lasso of energy immediately dissipated. She was cast to the ground as Oga swept overhead and disappeared once more into the night. Yet the Black Hallows was now in its ascendant within Etezora’s body, and a blow that should have meant instant death was already being healed by something whose nature was from beyond the stars.

  “You,” Etezora exclaimed, and as her mouth opened to utter the words, purple fire emerged, bathing her whole head in its conflagration. “Siksta has delivered you into my hands after all.”

  “Etezora,” Tayem said, raising the glaive once more to strike. “Your reign is over. Surrender now, or die by my blade.”

  The Cuscosian Queen opened her mouth to laugh, and the sound was as a nebula of evil, utterly inhuman and beyond redemption. “I am no longer Etezora,” she said. “I am Nurti, Goddess of Death — and now I impart my gift to you!” She raised her hand to Tayem, and before the Dragon Rider could react, a bolt of energy leapt from Etezora’s finger, ensnaring Tayem by the throat. At the Hallows’ touch, the nightmare of its possession filled Tayem with a terror she had hoped would never return.

  “That’s right,” Etezora said. “The Hallows recognises you as a long-lost friend. Welcome back, schjek!” The lasso tightened until Tayem could no longer draw breath. Etezora was enjoying this, and Tayem knew her death would be slow. She still held the glaive, and she tried to raise it, but Etezora simply willed her lasso to push her further away out of its reach. A flick of the wrist rotated the cord of energy sending Tayem crashing into the battlement wall .